His arms tried to hit at my back, but I didn’t even feel them. Jakhua’s face reddened as I slowly and painfully stole his life.
Then with the sai still plunged inside his stomach, I twisted and slowly dragged it up. The blade sliced through flesh. It tore through organs and scraped against bone in agonized slowness.
And all the time I stared into his eyes. The last face he would ever see would be that of a Kostava, the only surviving heir of the family he hated most.
Blood tried to surge up his throat. I squeezed my hand tighter, Jakhua choking as my hand tightened. Still my sai continued to cut. Then just as the life left his body, I ripped the sai from his torso, released my hand from around his neck, and watched as his body slumped down the wall, blood pouring from his wounds.
Stepping back, I looked at the guards all holding their rifles in readiness. With Jakhua’s dying eyes looking at me, I ordered, “Fire!”
The Bratva’s guards followed my command, raining bullets straight into Jakhua’s flesh, the force of the bullets at such close proximity ripping his body to shreds.
I watched as his eyes glazed with imminent death. When the firing stopped, a weight fell from my chest. He was dead. Jakhua was dead.
Silence filled the room. Hearing a noise from behind, I whipped around just in time to see the man in the white coat drop to the ground. Luka stepped back from the man, wiping his knuckle-dusters on his pants. He’d slit the white coat’s throat.
My eyes fell on Luka, then on the man in the white coat, then finally back to Jakhua. I glanced down at my hands; they were shaking. I stared at my bloodied hands, and images of my family raced through my mind. My chest grew tight. I felt like all of my blood had drained from my body.
My knees hit the ground. A pressure built in my stomach, traveling up my throat. Shaking with too much emotion, too many memories blocking my mind, I tipped my head back and screamed.
I screamed and screamed until the pressure left me. One single realization took its place as I sat, weakened, on the ground.
I was free.
I was finally free and completely free.
Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I turned. Luka Tolstoi was behind me. He met my eyes and said, “We need to leave.”
“Where do I go?” I asked, my voice rough and raw.
“To Talia,” Luka replied. Any tension, any anger I had remaining, left my body at the simple mention of her name.
I nodded and got to my feet. “Yes,” I said, “take me to Talia.”
*
“Let’s go,” Luka said as we pulled up to a house.
I stared at the large house and took a deep breath. It was the Tolstoi house. I looked to Luka. “I will not be welcome.”
Luka sighed and opened the van’s door. I followed him onto the dark street. I stood, looked at the house and my heart clenched. Talia was in that house. My Talia was in that house.
And I needed her. I wanted to see her again so much that all my muscles ached at the thought.
Luka laid a hand on my shoulder. I wore a sweatshirt and pants. But my skin was covered in Jakhua’s blood. My hair was not smooth.
Talia liked my hair smooth.
“She’s inside,” Luka said, and walked up some stairs. He glanced back, and taking a deep breath, I walked behind him.
Luka opened the door and walked toward a room. I could hear voices and, with each step, my heart beat faster and faster.
I was a Kostava in a Tolstoi house.
I was hated.
My father had killed Talia’s dedushka.
They had cause to hate me. I should not be here.
Luka walked into the room first. I heard relieved voices rushing to greet him. I remained behind the wall.
I had no family.
I did not know how it was to be in a family. I did not know how to act around people.
The room then went quiet. Luka came back into the hallway. “Come,” he said, and walked back into the room.
Inhaling through my nose, I stepped forward and rounded the corner.
I stopped in the entranceway. Every face looked my way. My gaze fell on two men standing at the back of the room, one who bore a strong resemblance to Luka.